


drink deeply

by sade12



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking to Cope, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mild Gore, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, not rly walt/jesse but its implied p strongly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sade12/pseuds/sade12
Summary: a drink, a drive, and the opportunity to get his attention.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a while back i came up with this and i thought it was AWF. like yo i didn't want it to see the light of day but i sooorta cleaned it up and made it a little clearer... ive been explorin jesse's character and i wanted to toss some ideas against the wall  
> (this is one of like 1,000 stories i made,,, its supposed to be around S5)  
> ty for readin and lmk what ya think mayb!! 

Blurry.

That was the only way he could conceive describing anything.

Blurry, distant, lost in fog; hard to see. The room was small, but as his head swung, it took on depth. He'd put on simple swirling patterns on his TV to occupy his mind, but his mind jerked around disjointed figures all around him. Tall, bleak, blank slates that approached the couch, yet kept their distance. Some resembled people he knew, but only people he knew didn't care.

A few drinks, strong ones, just to forget, hadn't seemed bad. It meant nothing. Another unhealthy coping mechanism to add onto his pile, as if it wasn't big enough. It wouldn't matter if he handed himself over drunk.

Because he'd already done that hundreds of times before.

It stung, but Jesse knew Mr. White was the only person that actually _cared._ Cared in moderation, only cared if he got what he wanted, and never if he didn't. Jesse would do what he wanted, when he wanted, lest he run the risk of talking to Heisenberg.

He wanted it, though, to stop resisting. To accept the 'no' and learn to live with them, to mold himself into something Mr. White would consider a second son and Heisenberg would consider a worthy work partner with good ethics. To be something he knew he wasn't and could never feasibly be, to please.

Anything to be loved, anything to be given any sort of attention, negative or positive.

Anything.

Including, of course, tearing out of his own home in a fever pitch, leaving the door open, running screaming into his car and driving drunk to the house of his ex-chemistry teacher.

His couch felt lonely when _he_ wasn't on the other side of it. When they weren't having stilted, yet comforting conversations with beers in hand like normal people did. It was an illusion, an assurance that they could be normal people too, as if it wasn't too late for that.

It picked at him like nothing else. It was worse than a withdrawal, crying to himself to leave Mr. White a message just to throw himself at the wall again and see if, just maybe, he'd stick this time.

He wanted to be yelled at, to be asked why he came, to be turned away. It all melded together in his mind, all equally the same as love. Running through red lights and over lawns for a love he'd never conceptualize, a love he'd never deserve. 

He crushed the gas pedal.

His heart was pounding, loud and full in his chest. He was in love, he was on fire.

He heard a yell, clear as day, just as his foot failed to hit the brake.

"Jesse?"

The next few seconds practically didn't exist.

He felt himself being lifted out of his car, brushing the red paint on his jacket and going seemingly deaf after hearing his name. Nothing felt more strong than his confusion, until he saw who was holding him.

He saw Mr. White's mouth move, but heard nothing but grim buzzing silence punctuated by the lofty expression he briefly saw on Skyler from the front windows. Her face was unreadable.

The concrete of the driveway was warm and solid. He felt one arm wrapped around his back, and a hand holding the side of his head. Carefully and deliberately, as if Walt genuinely cared.

Jesse felt tranquil, leaning into the half-embrace and resting his head against Walt's shoulder. He didn't know where he was, and barely why he even came, but he felt happy in that moment. 

He couldn't feel himself crying, or bleeding.

"You're drunk right now, aren't you? Are you using? What was it, Jesse?"

"Mh- Mr. Wh-"

There was a clear pause. "It's okay. It's alright, son. I know."

Jesse barely heard his next words, albeit something about calling an ambulance. Reality seemed to fade after that; he had to yell to hear himself yet didn't understand what he was trying to say.

Over the sounds of intermingled car alarms and concerned onlookers stringing here and there, he cried aloud, his voice strangled through sobs.

"H-hey, Mr. Whi-White," he spoke, convulsing as he desperately attempted clinging Walt in a hug. "I mi- I miss th... Y-You're all I... have. L-left."

Walt nodded then hushed him, but never once met his gaze. 

Jesse continued to speak aimlessly, although his hearing failed him. The rest of his words faded out into silence again, this time replaced with a long ring. It was impossible to stop shaking.

It was only then he moved his head and looked down at his left arm; bent at an unnatural angle, bone exposed and seeping deeply with blood strung loosely around Mr. White's side. He couldn't move it. He didn't mind. He had someone he needed more than anything holding him.

"I- I love-"

He moved back just enough to look Walt in the eyes. His expression read of contempt.

Just like he wanted. 


End file.
